


The Darkest Blooms of Love

by Sun_Spark



Series: Dark Jarchie (Collection) [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Brief homophobia, Canonical Character Death, Dark Archie Andrews, Dark Jughead Jones, Devoted Archie Andrews, Episode: s01e02 Chapter Two: A Touch of Evil, Established Relationship, Family, Flowers, Gen, How Do I Tag, Jason adopts Archie and Jason, Jughead/Archie and Jason/Polly is not ok?, Jughead/Archie/Jason is platonic, Love, Loving Archie, Loving Jughead, M/M, Murder, Murder Husbands, Musician Archie Andrews, Nicknames, Non-Graphic Violence, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Relationships, Possessive Jughead Jones, Protective Jason, Protective Jughead Jones, Sort Of, Soul Bond, Symbolism, Writer Jughead Jones, as per ep 02, caring Jason Blossom, just not how it happens, loving Jason Blossom, patch work family, reggie's a jerk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 04:56:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19986472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sun_Spark/pseuds/Sun_Spark
Summary: Jason Blossom, the boy with too much love to give and no one to give it too. Archie Andrews and Jughead Jones, the boys desperately in love and holding a darkness inside them they keep in check for each other. Polly Cooper, the mother to be who loves the odd family her soulmate has created.Reggie Mantel was wrong when he said Archie and Jughead killed Jason, but he wasn't far off. They have killed someone, let the madness they shared out and took the life of the monster who took their companion.





	The Darkest Blooms of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Jughead/Archie are a M/M relationship.  
> Polly/Jason are a F/M relationship  
> Jughead/Archie/Jason are a platonic relationship based on love and affection - Look, Jason basically adopts these two and cuddles with them because they needed it, ok?

Reggie Mantle had been far off the mark when he’d accused Jughead of killing Jason, much less of mutilating or defiling his corpse. But he hadn’t been wrong that someone, somewhere, had the desire to rend flesh, carving the bearer’s many sins into an ugly canvas of penance. He’d merely been wrong about the desecration. About who it would be done to.

Reggie’s hotheaded remarks and motor mouth moving faster than a brain so desperate to prove its intelligence that it spewed nonsense from lips that should be closed fast, were wrong when he asked if Archie had helped, had had any hand in the deed of snuffing out Jason Blossom’s short life like a tea candle extinguished with the pinch of fingers, nothing but trails of smoke left behind. He’d been far off the mark with his blood-brothers guess, but not too far off, Archie and he did share a bond stronger than most, one the likes of Reggie Mantle would be either lucky, or terrified, to ever know.

The idea that Jughead or Archie would have ever hurt Jason Blossom, injured a single of his petals, would ever have dared desecrate their Rose Bloom, was so far beyond possible it was not laughable, but sickening. He had been integral to them, hidden away because no one would understand, would ever dare try to understand how they worked. Cheryl had lost her brother, that was true, but what was hidden was the missing piece from him and Archie; the gaping hole where Jason’s loving smile and gentle embrace should be. Hurt him? They would have rather died.

Jason Blossom had found them, scared and hurting, nearly two years before, having run from bigots who had never seen their faces but didn’t care so long as they had targets to throw rocks at. They’d run, stumbled and picked each other up, clung to one another and kept running, running, running from men and boys alike, not knowing where they were until Archie had stumbled on a twisted ankle and fallen. They’d hid then, hid away in a forgotten shed that had just begun to give in to time and crumble under the world’s weight. They’d clung to each other then too, unsure and terrified in that space where time ceased to exist. Jason’s Oak, as they would come to call it, stood, 400 years old boughs reaching out over the land as if to cradle the lost and frightened, leaves rustling in soothing whispers. Jason would often go there and climb her branches to escape, and that day he had done what she could not.

They had been terrified still when Jason’s golden-red hair came into view, gentle green-blue eyes shining at them with warmth so oddly matched with his calm demeanor. He’d soothed them both, mostly Jughead, bringing the boy back from the edge of a panic attack, and, once they were calm enough to breathe without the white’s of their eyes drowning out their irises, he’d checked Archie’s ankle while Jughead looked on in protective worry. It wasn’t broken and he set at ease Jughead’s fears as his outer shirt came off, the no doubt expensive material being wrapped around Archie’s ankle with gentle fingers. 

He’d drawn them to him, brushing aside their defenses the way the wind lifted browned leaves from the oak that sheltered them. Over half Archie’s weight he bore and yet still kept a hand at Jughead’s arm, nearly embracing them both as he lead them to one of the spare houses kept on the property, fully stocked and maintained but unused. Its only occupant of any regularity was Jason himself, the rose garden he showed them later was the evidence of a loving touch, so sparse in the Blossom family but overflowing from him. All day they stayed with him not ever really figuring out why they did, but that house, the dead space chilled by the stale taste of death that clung to the cruel monsters who had birthed a ray of sunshine, inverted around them. It whispered of safety and a family of sorts, one that didn’t make much sense at the time but settled a longing ache into their bones.  


That was the day Jason Blossom learned about Jughead Jones’ all-consuming love for Archie Andrews, of Archie’s love, so strong he might drown in it yet could not breathe without it and his complete devotion to the boy who owned his heart. Over time he would come to understand more, to be allowed to glimpse into their lives and see beyond their masks. He would see Jughead’s consuming need to take care of Archie and protect him. Archie’s answering need to practically worship his best friend with sacrifices of love and trust given easier than the breath from his lips. He would see further still to the darkness within them, the madness that danced just under Archie’s skin, collared and held in check by Jughead’s calm devotion allowed by Archie’s trust, the cold indifference that turned Jughead’s blue-green eyes to grey with frost, thawed by the love and burning emotions of Archie Andrews. Jason knew a thing or two about madness, could see the frayed edges of these two, how they slotted together, held each other in check and kept the darkness at bay, so he didn’t bat an eye, slung an arm over their shoulders and gave them the affection that had nowhere else to go.

And Archie and Jughead let him. They never could pinpoint why, but some part of them felt a void, needed so badly to have someone who would be akin to an older brother, a friend, a father, or a lover to them both. So they let him, and Jason slipped beneath the folds in their scuffed armor and carefully stitched masks, saw the truth of them and blanketed them in warmth born of love.

It was hidden from the world outside their bubble, all of it. Their relationship with Jason, unquantifiable as it was; their relationship with each other; the odd family-type unit they made and the hours spent hidden away from the world and resting at each other’s sides. In school, they didn’t acknowledge Jason any more than they used to, yet the gentle boy could never help but share a soft smile as he passed them, though he did manage not to pull either of them into an embrace until they were hidden away from prying eyes. The amount of effort it took him not to hug them at random and shower them in affection shocked them, yet they felt it themselves.

Jughead and Archie continued to hide their relationship as they already had been, going so far as to make it appear as if there was a strain on their friendship so the likes of Chuck Clayton wouldn’t decide their nearly fifteen-year-old bond was a good enough reason to hurt them. On that count there was no reigning Jason in, it was one of the few times they’d seen him truly angry after Jughead had been beaten by a group of jocks. They never learned what he’d done or said but no one was dead and no one made so much as a comment about them ever again.

They’d started calling him Rose Bloom out of some unspoken agreement between them, the nickname slipping from chapped lips without a thought or a care, falling into the space between them all like a prayer. Jason had been running gentle fingers over the deep red blooms he tended with so much care when Jughead had first said it, and a smile soft and beautiful enough to shame even the most well-loved bloom had spread across his face. 

In the wee hours of the night, on one of the rare occasions all three could beg or sneak away from their families and the structures they called home to lie beneath the open night sky, Jughead’s name was born to life from Jason’s lips, breathed so tenderly it seemed for a moment that Death itself had come to pass the cherished name to Life’s realm. He was laid against Jason, head pillowed at his shoulder, with Archie held close when the pale boy’s fingers trailed through raven locks so tenderly Jughead wondered if one could feel love transfer from the touch of one being to the skin of another. With a smile tender as his love that Jughead did not need to see but could hear, their Rose Bloom mused aloud to him, a bubble of intimate privacy even in the midst of a group as they were, words slipping forth like silk; “You know these stars so well, could name them all with ease.” His eyes had flicked up to the swirling canvas above them illuminating the night. “Stardust scattered across the cosmos. It’s far more visible in your eyes, did you know that?” He’d smiled at the stars. “They remind me of a Hellebore bloom, the flecks of white scatter at the center of a black canvas. It’s rare as it is beautiful, and as deadly as it is lovely.” That smile turned to him then, nothing but love shining in the depths of swirling color. “Is that what you are Jughead? Our Hellebore?”

At Jason’s other side Polly laughs, genuine and sweet, and she says it’s perfect. Jughead gazes back into melding browns and greens and blues with eyes of the same color flecked with stardust, and he smiles.

When Archie’s name leave’s Jason’s lips it's with a laugh so gentle you could almost forget it was a laugh and not a breath. Jughead is propped up on a couch, the familiar soft clacking of keys that follows him everywhere his only sound. At his side lays Polly, head propped on his arm, watching with fondness and unabashed love as her soulmate cradles and teaches one of the boys he’s taken into his heart just a few feet away. Jason is on the floor, settled back against an over-cushioned couch, gentle smile unable to be wiped from his lips as he teaches Archie. The other redhead is settled easily between his legs, back to chest, and Jason is reaching around him, embracing him in a fashion, and covering his hands with his own, guiding unfamiliar and eager fingers over the cords of a tricky song. When Archie finally gets it right, able to play the enchanting tune, albeit slowly, without Jason moving his fingers but only the gentle hand resting over his own, he laughs. The sound makes Polly giggle and has Jughead sitting straighter, joy blooming in his core at the notes far more beautiful than any guitar could make. Jason laughs gently and hugs Archie properly from behind, rests his chin on the boy’s head where it’s thrown back against his shoulder and says “All your passion, all your emotion, even when you’ve learned everything I can teach you this guitar won’t be able to contain it all, will it Fire Lily?”

Archie stills at the name, but he only smiles wider, eyes shining with joy as he tilts his head back and accepts the kiss pressed to his forehead. Polly laughs, bright and joyous as she sits up. “You love nothing more than your garden, do you Jase?” She teased, Jason merely smirked as his eyes met hers. “You should know my Belladonna.” His healing and his poison, his life and his death. Jughead shared a smile with Archie then, they knew well enough the meaning of that particular flower. Polly only laughed again as she blew him a kiss.

When Polly had fallen pregnant they’d dubbed her little miracle Rose Bloom, passing the name from father to son in an act of intimacy most could never understand. That day Jughead had smiled, a gentle grin reserved only for Archie and Jason and, after time, allowed to Polly. He had tilted his head up from where he was lounging across Jason’s lap, the four of them hidden under an old willow tree hidden on the Blossom land, Polly looking through baby books excitedly with Archie as the boy plucked quiet music on his guitar, Jason didn’t mind, content enough to hold Jughead. That day Jughead had dubbed Jason, formerly their Rose Blossom, now their Rose Thorn. 

The statement had drawn attention from Archie and Polly, confusion evident in the air, even from Jason, but as the eldest redhead gazed down at the boy in his arms there was an abundance of affection playing over his features and a laugh in his voice when he asked why. They hadn’t expected a sorrowful expression to dance across Jughead’s eyes when he told them that thorns were just as beautiful as the rose blooms they guarded, and their little Rose Bloom was going to need their father to protect them.

They’d sat in silence for a heart’s beat, the wind sounding around them as it plucked leaves from the nearby oaks and ruffled Jason’s hair. Then Jason smiled, said he was ‘ever the poet’ and pressed a kiss to his forehead as Polly laughed in a mother’s joy and Archie smiled. Each of them cradling the treasured bloom of their namesake gifted to them by the boy with too much love to give.

Jason Blossom: Father to be; Soulmate, fiancé, and husband to be; and companion and nurturing guardian all. Stripped away from the world by some cruel monster. Old poets such as Virgil might have called it the cruel hand of fate, but Jughead knew better. He had known when Jason’s body was found, when the shattering cry had pierced the night only to be heard by Archie and himself, a cry from hell come to call, fate screaming that her precious child had been wrenched from her hands and shattered on the concrete like porcelain. He’d know it then and knew it now as they had hunted the monster in the night, never letting on to those around them how personal this was. Never letting on to the madness slipping loose under Archie’s skin. Never letting on to the ice crawling over Jughead’s eyes and soul.  


Reggie Mantel was a foolish jock who mouthed off to impress friends who didn’t give a damn about him, oh so eager to fit in. He’d been wrong on every count, and yet he hadn’t been far off the mark.

There wasn’t a pact that needed to be made between them, be it in blood or anything else. One already existed, embedded in their souls, tied between them by an invisible string that Jughead knew would gleam red if only his eyes could see it. They could feel where it branched off, where their string should be joined by another, different one, but it was gone. There wasn’t anything pervy to it, no their bond to Jason had been the purest thing in their lives, and now it was gone. Them, hurt him? They would have died, slain themselves first.

But Reggie wasn’t entirely wrong. Jughead reflected on that as he watched the body sway before them, knowing he might find it humorous if the second string tied to him and Archie wasn’t broken, if Polly wasn’t running away, if her children weren’t going to be fatherless. If the loss of love they hadn’t known they’d craved hadn’t let loose the demons they had tempered in each other for so long.

It didn’t matter though, he knew that as he looked to his side, met Archie’s burning eyes with the ice in his own. Knew it as he saw the coldness in himself calm Archie, as he felt the frost covering his soul begin to thaw under the heat of Archie’s passion. Jason was right, no instrument would ever contain that, but that was alright. Jughead could, he would. 

In the time it took a falling star to fade Archie’s energy fled, and his madness with it, he slumped to the side and Jughead welcomed him with open arms, cradling him as the last of his frost receded back to the prison it hid in, locked away by Archie’s fire. Above him he watched as Clifford Blossom swung from a noose woven carefully by Jughead’s gloved hands out of rope, thorns, hellebore, and fiery lilies. Beneath his feet was spilled the blooms of belladonna and the roses Jason had tended. They hadn’t mutilated or violated the body, it wasn’t in their manner, but they had marked it all the same, hoped in the darkest corners of their minds that the devil would drag Clifford Blossom to hell by a noose made of rose thorns. Perhaps it was reckless, but only Polly would know, and they doubted she would do anything more than thank them.

As dawn approached he turned his back on Riverdale’s monster and led his boy away from the ruined garden, left it for death to clean up the mess and turn each and every bloom stolen from the Blossom gardens to rot. He led them home, pausing under the clear skies as the stars began to rain down. Archie leaned into him and he didn’t have any doubt when he met the other boy’s eyes that they could both feel the arm wrapped around them in loving acceptance.

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos make my day but I really, really love comments, so please! key smash or write an essay or anything in between, I'll love it all the same! <3


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